


Make Your Mark

by mushroommuscle (grungerofgotham)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, First Kiss, Fluff, Gen, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Angst, Multi, Trans Caduceus Clay, Trans Fjord (Critical Role), Trans Jester Lavorre, split POV, the timeline might be incoherent but at least the clay fam is here, these clerics are trans babey!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26123659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grungerofgotham/pseuds/mushroommuscle
Summary: Fjord doesn’t have a soulmate like everybody else. He’s always been missing that mark he pretends he doesn’t crave.Little does he know someone in the Mighty Nein shares his problem.Or: Fjord doesn't have a soulmate. Neither does Caduceus. They find each other anyway.
Relationships: Caduceus Clay & Beauregard Lionett, Caduceus Clay/Fjord, Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast, Fjord & Jester Lavorre, Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Comments: 66
Kudos: 221





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is a soulmate AU where soulmates carry the same unique mark somewhere on their bodies.
> 
> Enjoy :0

It isn’t often that marks are brought up on Vandran’s ship. Romance and relationships aren’t the most popular topics of discussion amongst the sea-roughened sailors, and Fjord’s always found comfort in that. He can pretend that he’s just like any one of them, here to earn a living and not talk about the loving partner they have waiting on the shore.

He can pretend that he just has no taste for that kind of stuff, that his hands are made for hauling rope and spending every silver he has on rum when they’re back on solid ground and not for holding a body that fits so perfectly against his own. He can pretend he isn’t different, isn’t _without_.

That’s not to say Fjord hasn’t seen some of the other’s marks- so distinct from any birthmark or tattoo that some may try to pass theirs for. They never fade, never lose their colour. They never stretch or crack under the pressures of living bodies in harsh conditions. No cut could sever a mark’s shape, no burn or rash could dilute its colours. He supposes that makes sense. They’d have to stay the same so that when you meet the One, the lives you’ve lived and weathered won’t cast a flicker of doubt over that guiding certainty that romance novels and love-sick poems seem to hold so dear.

He likes the freedom not having a mark grants him. He doesn’t need that heavy anchor of _knowing_ that everyone craves. He’s just fine having been left to wonder. And fantasize. And dream. 

Dream of a warm hand that would card so gentle through his hair and a smile that might ease the ache. He tells himself when it’s late and he’s had a couple, that the concept of the universe crafting for you some true companion, some perfect opposite, is restrictive and- and- repulsive. Tells himself that choice is a gift, a gift he should be grateful for. And if he wakes up with eyelashes stinging and crusted with salt, well, that’s because he’s an emotional drunk, nothing more.

Fjord does get curious, sometimes. When he catches sight of Vandran contemplating the purple swirl on the inside of his forearm or when Sabian scratches at his chest over his shirt, always the same spot, when someone mentions the soulmate that they’d loved or lost.

Fjord gets curious, so he asks his best friend. 

As Sabian pulls him away from the mess and sends him into his quarters with a rough shove, Fjord tries to keep it all from showing on his face. Tries not to let on how viscerally he wants for it to be nothing, wants Sabian to strip off his shirt and show that there is no mark there, so he and Fjord might be alone _together_. Or, less realistic, wants Sabian to shake his head in exasperation, shout at Fjord that he’s been waiting for him, that he’s been a fool, that he _does_ have a mark- it’s just been tucked away behind his ear where Fjord’s never thought to look, and that it’s the same as the mark on the other sailor’s chest.

Fjord hasn’t looked behind his ear; hasn’t dared. Hope is an addictive thing, and sometimes you have to create your own.

“What the fuck is your problem, huh?” Sabian says instead. Already it derails the fantasy that Fjord indulges in when the morning is quiet and dark and he hasn’t managed to drink himself to sleep. “How can you be so thick? A blind mute would see that I don’t want to talk about this shit.”

“I’m sorry,” Fjord says, “You just always seem so down when it’s brought up. Thought you might like the chance to talk about it, to get it off your chest. I didn’t mean anything by it.” Sabian hadn’t shoved him against the closed door once they’d entered, as much as he’d looked like he’d wanted to, but Fjord’s pressed to it anyway, the force of Sabian’s hard eyes pinning him to the old creaking wood.

“Talk about it? Did you not hear me?” he spits, stalking around the chamber. Sabian’s eyes leave him, and Fjord’s hands slip from where they’d been held up in a subconscious display of defence. “You don’t want to talk about it. You want to see it, right? Don’t think I haven’t seen you eyeing me, Fjord.”

Fjord blinks, chest seizing in panic. This isn’t at all how this was supposed to go. “I was just-.”

“Fine. _Fine._ I’ll show you,” Sabian says, shrugging like it’s nothing. Fjord knows the gesture. Knows it means anything but nothing.

He tugs at the first few buttons on his shirt, and Fjord stares, glued to the spot. He doesn’t want to be here anymore. He wants to bolt back down to the mess and dive amongst the rest of his crew, melting back into the harsh liquor and traded barbs until he can believe this was just a bad dream. But he can’t get his fingers to close around the handle, can’t get his eyes to move from where Sabian’s now ripping his shirt open, frustrated with the elusory buttons.

“There,” he says, shirt fluttering to the floor, “Drink your fill. Happy?”

Fjord feels his face heat, shame colouring it a deep copper even as his eyes stay fixed on the other man. The mark on his chest is a murky blue, curling over the entire left half of his chest. It’s a wave, crashing down on itself and sending shards of water spraying across his tanned skin. It’s huge, much too large to hide behind an ear or fit away in some forgotten nook.

Sabian isn’t Fjord’s soulmate, and the roiling in his gut isn’t from the several pints of ale. 

No time to process this total rejection before Sabian is taking a step forward, “Well, let’s see yours then if you’re such a fucking romantic.”

Fjord blinks and shakes his head, dragging his eyes away from the swirling mass of indigo and clearing his throat. “I don’t have one,” he blurts.

Sabian scoffs, “Come on, Fjord, you can think of a better lie than that. Everyone has a mark.” And there’s a familiar smile gracing his lips. Fjord can’t decide if it’s a relief to have his care-free friend back, or if he wants the vicious anger to disguise him again, so he can look him in the eye tomorrow and forget this happened.

“Not me. I’ve looked everywhere,” Fjord admits quietly, shrinking back against the door as Sabian’s smirk diminishes. 

He’s judging Fjord, his mouth tugging into a scrutinizing frown. He shakes his head and paces forward once more, “You poor bastard… No, you probably just missed it.” 

Distracted by the look on his face, that sickening mixture of pity and disgust and confusion, he hardly notices when Sabian starts to tug on his shirt, pulling the hem from his trousers. The embarrassment, the churning self-hatred in his gut, lashes out at the invasion and Fjord finds himself sending a fist into Sabian’s face before seizing the door handle and bolting up onto the slick deck.

When he wakes up on the shore and remembers what happened, his first thought is that Sabian destroying the ship must be his fault, the bitter sailor so incensed by Fjord’s attack that he marched right down to the cargo hold and set fire to every barrel of gun powder he could find. Then he remembers that they hadn’t been carrying gunpowder. Realises that Sabian had to have planned this. Realises that Fjord isn’t important enough to have such emotional sway in any case.

Once he picks himself up with that strange sword in his grasp, he sighs and finds he’s rather glad Sabian didn’t turn out to be his other half.

*

It’s mere hours from dawn when Fjord and Jester relieve Beau and Nott from their post, taking their last watch. It’s a rare night; aside from getting up at shift change, everyone’s slept their fill, even Caleb. Of course, taking shifts like this isn’t as necessary as it once was with the dome, but no one can ever quite get comfortable enough to sleep unguarded.

“Hey Fjord,” Jester whispers, clutching her knees to her chest when the other’s breathing starts to even out, “Let’s gossip.”

He huffs; if only to hide the jolt of panic that lances through him at the request. Gossip generally means one thing when Jester’s involved- soulmate talk. Fjord doesn’t know how he’s lasted. They’ve been travelling together long enough that he can’t remember a time without this new family (or at least, doesn’t want to), yet somehow, he’s managed to escape Jester’s poking and prodding about marks and destiny and love. It helps that Nott won’t shut up about her husband, and the recently discovered spectacle of Beau and Yasha’s matching rosebuds.

Fjord knew his time would come, he’s held out long enough. “Sure, Jes,” he says, trying not to let the apprehension bleed into his voice, “What do you want to gossip about?”

A wide grin splits across her face and she wiggles where she sits. She leans forward with a devious quirk of an eyebrow and says, “I saw Caleb’s soul mark the other day.”

Okay. Not as bad as he was expecting. He can work with this. He may not have a lot to contribute to this conversation but as long as it stays on Caleb or _anyone_ but Fjord, he’ll survive. He tries not to let it bother him that damn near every talk he’s had with Jester is just another reminder of how he doesn’t fit in.

At least he has a talent for improvisation.

He tilts over into the tiefling’s space and shoots her an incredulous look, “How did you manage that? No one’s ever seen it. Except for Nott, probably.”

“I know!” she gasps, “But I wanted to talk to him yesterday so I followed him down to the stream when we were resting and he took all of those bandages on his wrists off to wash his hands and it was right there on his forearm!” She grimaces, “He didn’t realise that I followed him and I didn’t want things to be awkward so I just left. He doesn’t know I saw it.”

“Jester,” Fjord chides, “How many times do we have to have this chat about privacy?”

“I didn’t mean to!” she whisper-shouts. Yasha grunts out a particularly loud snore and Jester lowers her voice, “I swear I just wanted to talk to him! Anyway, I don’t actually think he’s hiding it, I think it just happens to be where he covers up his scars.” 

“Hm,” he hums, pretends to consider, “Okay, I’ll bite, what does it look like?”

She shrugs, “Hard to explain, it’s some rune or whatever, it doesn’t really matter _but_ \- this brings me to the exciting part!” she bites her lip and flaps her hands, and Fjord hates to admit he’s hanging on the edge of his seat.

“Go on…?”

“It’s the same as Essek’s!” she says, punctuating with a squeal. 

“No shit?” Fjord breathes, peering over the bulk of Caduceus to the redhead, “I thought they were like… rivals or something.”

“They kind of are, yeah,” Jester says, elated by the drama of it all, “But like… you have to have noticed all that sexual tension, right? I mean, come on, it’s crazy!” 

“I… hadn’t. If I’m being honest,” Fjord says, “But I guess I’ll be keeping an eye out for it now.”

Jester giggles, “Oh, they’ll be so cute together, don’t you think, Fjord?”

“They will?” Fjord asks. He hadn’t thought about it. Maybe he needs to get his head out of his ass and pay attention to the people he cares about instead of wallowing in his sadness.

“Uh, yeah!” she says, shaking her head and slapping his arm as if it’s obvious, “They’re both dark and mysterious and wizardy, but also they’ve got that opposites thing going on. Like, you know, Essek’s all icy and charming and Caleb loves fire and can’t make eye contact! Its opposites attract but they also have common ground, it’s like, the perfect match!”

Fjord chuckles, “Sure. Perfect.” He watches as Caleb tightens his hold on Nott, a frown twitching between his brows. Watches as Beau shuffles closer into Yasha’s side, smashing her face into one giant shoulder. Turns his gaze to Caduceus and notices how lonely his waist looks without an arm around it.

He wishes- wishes… No. Nope. No, he can’t admit that. Can’t let himself slide back into the habit of allowing himself hope.

“Fjord,” Jester says, and he almost doesn’t notice, he’s so immersed in his own thoughts. The way she speaks is gentle, probing yet reserved in an un-Jester-like show of vulnerability, “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure, Jes,” Fjord says, just as softly. 

“I don’t have a soulmate.”

Fjord blinks, squints at her, trying to discern if this is a joke. But Jester doesn’t joke like this, and she’s just implied that Fjord _isn’t alone_. “Wh-? But you-.”

“I know! I know I talk about it all the time. I talk about soulmates so much, so I must have one, right?”

“Well, there’s that. And there’s also the fact that you’ve told us about your mark like… _so_ many times,” Fjord says, stilling when Jester sniffles in response, relaxing when it’s followed by a giggle.

“Yeah,” she sighs, “I made that up. I thought at least one of you would see through it because I said it was on my butt so I wouldn’t have to show any of you. Actually, I think Caduceus saw through it.” 

“He sees through everything,” Fjord agrees, smiling fondly as an answering snore rises from the mound of firbolg.

Jester hums, “I’ve looked everywhere. Stole one of my mom’s hand held mirrors to check all the nooks and crannies. If you know what I mean,” she finishes with a wink.

Fjord scoffs and nudges her in the side with an elbow.

“But there’s just… nothing,” she shrugs.

“Oh, well,” Fjord says, unsure how to respond to a Jester that isn’t bouncing off the walls, slapping a dick onto every surface as she goes. Desperate times, he thinks, and says, “I don’t have one, either.” 

He’s met with the expected gasp and a tight, two-handed grip on his arm, “What! Fjord, oh my _god_! I thought I was the only one!”

“So did I!” Fjord whisper-yells back. “I… it’s so nice to know that I’m not! That I’m not alone in this.”

And it is. Fjord’s young, but a couple of decades is still a long while to go without meeting someone who shares your struggle.

“It fucking _sucks_ , doesn’t it?” Jester whines, wiping away a few tears, forgotten as quickly as they fell.

“Yeah. You could put it that way,” Fjord scoffs. 

So he does. When he has a moment alone with Jester, he lets himself steep in the knowledge that this situation just… _sucks_ , and that there’s nothing much to be done about it. He lets go of the forced belief that this is a gift and lets himself wallow in the horrid uncertainty of knowing there’s no one out there destined to love him. At least he has company in this well of self-pity.

So he keeps his eyes on Jester until dawn and lets himself whine (and cry, sometimes), all the while trying his best not to watch the iridescent beetle crawling along Caduceus’ ear.

*

The companionable silence the boys had cultivated in the fish and chip shop post-destiny-talk takes a sharp dive toward awkward when Caleb rolls his sleeves up to eat, his usual swaddle of bandages absent, a deep black mark visible on the inside of his arm. The wizard doesn’t seem to notice the eyes on him until he takes his first bite of battered fish and catches Fjord’s stare, following it down to his wrist.

Fjord remembers a conversation he’d had with Jester months ago, a gossip session turned welcome revelation where she’d told him that Caleb and Essek shared a mark. And she’s not wrong. The slashed, curling lines of it are archaic and identical to the other wizard's. It had made sense, what Jester had told him, but with how secretive he always is, he could never be sure. Until now.

He wonders if Caleb knows. Essek doesn’t exactly hide his mark. Well, no more than he hides anything else beneath his over-sized mantle. And for all his intelligence, Caleb isn’t the most observant.

Fjord is curious, so he asks, “Caleb. You’ve ditched your bandages.”

Caleb nods, a blush and a frown merging on his face, “I- yes. I thought… Well, Veth’s transformation has had quite the impact on me. It was inspiring. She and I had spent _hours_ slaving away, trying to find a way to make her herself again. I thought I would try to be a bit more… myself. After all, it’s a lot easier than what she went through, and I suppose I should be grateful.” He looks down at his arm and traces one of the thicker scars. “My past may be painful, but it is a part of me, and there’s no real point in hiding it, not after all we’ve seen. And I see you looking at my mark, Fjord. I did not intend to hide it; it was just an acceptable coincidence.”

“It’s rather similar to Mr. Thelyss’,” Caduceus says, peering at it with open curiosity, “Have you noticed?”

Caleb’s face doesn’t change much, only continuing to accelerate through different shades of red, “I-,” he clears his throat and picks up his fish again, “I have noticed, yes. I- I would prefer to deal with that myself if you would not mind.”

“We aren’t looking to meddle. We’re not Jester,” Fjord says.

Caleb laughs, as much as he ever does, and the fire under his cheeks dies down.

“Do you know what the rune means?” Caduceus asks.

Caleb’s gaze skirts to the side and he ducks his head to dig into his food, “I, uh, have not looked into it.”

Fjord giggles at the obvious fib, “Is he lying Cad?” 

“Yeah.”

Caleb looks up in a panic, “I-.”

“It’s alright, Mr. Caleb,” Caduceus says, gingerly lifting his fish away from his chips and dropping it into Fjord’s box, “You’re entitled to privacy. However much you can scrounge within this group, that is.”

Caleb nods solemnly and tucks himself into the corner of their table to read a book until they’ve finished eating. When they start making their way back to the ship, Caduceus walks close beside Fjord. It isn’t cold, so Fjord isn’t quite sure if the intermittent brush of Cad’s elbow against his shoulder is necessary, but the contact is nice, and he’s not moving away.

There’s still that little aching something sitting in his bones every time he looks at Caduceus. It itches away at him when they’re close like this, nagging under his skin and trying desperately to claw him closer to the firbolg. Sometimes it retreats. When it’s gone Fjord finds himself craving it, needing to spend time with Caduceus, talk to him, watch him, touch him, just to bring the intoxicating companionship back.

It’s on this walk back in the mild coastal night that Fjord has the thought: _Maybe this is what having a soulmate is like._

Fjord trips on an uneven plank as the notion hits him and follows it up with: _Nope! Not possible! Stop thinking like that, it’s way out of line and only leads to bad places,_ even as Caduceus catches him around the bicep and steadies him with a soft, “You alright?”

Fjord looks up into his gentle eyes, glittering under the sparse lantern light at the edge of the docks, and gulps, nods and tugs his arm away from his big warm hand, shivering as the heat of his palm dissipates into the cooling night air. He starts to think, as he makes sure to walk a step away from Caduceus, that the night _is_ rather cold.

It isn’t as if they hadn’t been expecting some kind of minor disaster when they got back to the girls, but Jester clutching Beau’s hand, caught in a fit of tears, is still somewhat shocking. The oddest thing about the scene they come back to is that Yasha and Beau have twin looks of startled glee, seasoned with a dash of confused hurt.

Fjord can’t begin to imagine what’s happened when Jester looks up at him and jumps to her feet. “Fjord!” she gasps, throwing her arms around him, “Fjord, I’m so sorry!”

“Woah, Jes,” he says, holding her back by the arms, shaking his head in confusion, “What’s going on?”

She sniffles and tugs him back down the dock until they’re out of earshot of the others, “I have a mark, Fjord, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know!”

Fjord frowns, lets go of her arm, lets his hand sink to his side as his stomach goes with it, “A soul mark? Jester, you told me you didn’t have one?”

“I thought I didn’t!” She exclaims, swallowing back another bout of tears as she starts to explain, “I had to tie my hair up to get this tattoo on my back and Orly asked me- he asked me if I’d ever had an undercut before cos there was a tattoo on my scalp, and I said ‘no that’s impossible,’ and Beau looked closer and there’s a mark under my hair, I’m so _sorry_ Fjord, I never knew it was there!”

“Jester, Jester, hey, it’s alright,” Fjord says, trying his best to soothe her down from her hysterics, “I don’t mind, honestly. I’m so glad that you have a soulmate, you deserve this!”

“But Fjord!” she gasps, “I lied to you! I had one and I said I didn’t and now, now- oh! I feel so bad!”

“Jester…” he says and pulls her into a hug. She goes easily, throwing herself into his chest and squeezing him tight enough to pull the wind out of him. “Don’t feel bad, please. This is an amazing thing, okay? Don’t waste your time feeling bad for me when you could be feeling happy for yourself. You get that someone special that you’ve always wanted, how could this be a bad thing?”

“Two,” she sniffs.

“Huh?”

“Two ‘someone’s,” she says, starting to sound a fraction as happy as the situation warrants, “It’s Beau and Yasha. My mark is the same as theirs.”

“Oh. That’s wonderful,” he says, leaning his cheek in her hair, mindful of her horns as his heart twists in his ribcage. And it is wonderful. But Fjord can’t help but feel upset, because of course this was always an option, but Fjord had always theorized that he’d have time to process it before that someone came to sweep her off her feet. But this is it. They’re already here and Fjord has to say goodbye to the only person who’d ever understood, and he isn’t fucking prepared.

“Fjord,” Jester whispers, pulling away and wiping an errant tear from his face, “I really am _so_ sorry.” 

He shakes his head, “No, it’s alright, I promise. I’m happy for all of you. I just have to mourn our bitch sessions and I’ll be fine. Promise.”

She nods, wipes her face and giggles, “It’s pretty crazy, isn’t it? They were here all along.”

He hums, fails to make it sound joyful. Of course not being alone was too good to be true. Of course, the only solace he’d ever managed to find was false. Jester leaves him to re-join the group, spinning whatever story she likes about why he might need some space, and when he makes his way back to the ship, Caduceus is waiting for him.

The rush of relief and fondness at the sight of his pink hair flowing in the ocean breeze is just a fraction too much after that revelation, and he shrugs off Caduceus’ gentle looks and soft hands on his shoulder before sulking back to his quarters, where he shivers the night through.

*


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caduceus never really learnt how to deal with having no mark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Caddy time! Let the boy cry for once... (or twice)
> 
> content warnings: death mention (I guess)

Caduceus is watching Colton dig a grave. It’s nice and easy to dig this time of year; when the dirt is soft and dark and pliable. Not too sandy, not too wet. Colton is already a few feet deep, half of his body in the ground, torso swinging down and up, down and up, shifting dirt over his shoulder with each huffed breath.

A worm emerges from the growing mound beside the younger firbolg, writhing around until it can bury its head in the dirt again. Caduceus frowns and reaches out to it, gripping it between thumb and forefinger before setting its body gently down on the ground beside the pile, in dirt that won’t soon be replaced over a body. He doesn’t want the worm to get cut in half by his brother’s shovel.

Caduceus has been wishing lately that he might wake up and find himself in the dirt. Not dead. Of course not dead- he has no reason to find out what awaits them on the other side just yet. No- he’s just thinking about what it might be like to be a worm. No eyes, no limbs, no sense of the world around him save for the press of soil and roots on all sides. Senseless enough he wouldn’t even be aware that something is missing. That he doesn’t have what every other worm has.

If he were a worm, he wouldn’t have to worry about why his soul mark hasn’t appeared, when it should have faded in two decades ago. Clarabelle is only in her early 50’s and she’s already got hers. Caduceus isn’t worried about it. Not really. He just… has some questions, that’s all.

He finds a beetle next, strokes a finger over it’s hard back and thinks about having such brilliant armour.

“Would you stop playing in my dirt, Cad? It’s kind of hard to dig a grave when you’re pushing it right back in,” Colton says, leaning on his shovel and wiping his hair out of his face, only succeeding in smearing a streak of grey across his cheek.

Caduceus looks down to where his feet are half-buried in the pile of dirt, toes wiggling and toppling another clump back into the grave. “Sorry,” he says, and pulls his feet under him, distancing himself from the mound. “Hey, Colton? Have you met your soulmate?”

Colton pauses as he lifts the shovel back up and squints at his second-youngest sibling, “No. Maybe when I leave. Why, did you meet someone in town?”

“No,” Caduceus replies, clapping his hands together and examining the way the specks of dirt and sand caught on his palms puff out in a cloud and fall back to the ground. “What happens if you don’t have a soul mark?”

Colton scoffs, dismissive, and goes back to digging. “Everyone has a mark, Caduceus.”

“Yeah,” Caduceus shrugs. He’s agreeing, but somehow it still sounds like a lie, “But what if you didn’t?”

“Caduceus-,” Colton says, wedging his shovel hard into the dirt. “I don’t have time for this, I have a lot to do today.”

Caduceus sighs and gets to his feet. He knows when he’s not wanted.

“Hey,” Colton calls before he can start walking, “Don’t bring this up when the Stein’s come over for the burial tomorrow, okay? No one likes to talk about soulmates at a funeral.”

“Fine,” Caduceus grumbles, and before he can think better of it, he bends over and heaves a load of dirt right back onto Colton’s feet and runs away.

He almost knocks Calliope over on his way back into the cottage, giggling at the indignance of Colton’s fading shouts.

“Woah, Cad, watch where you’re going, ‘right?” she says, steadying him by the shoulders and spinning them both around so that she’s on the outside of the doorway. The way she says it isn’t harsh by any means, but she’s clearly busy, so Caduceus needs to get his questions in quick.

“Calliope, do you know what happens if you don’t have a soul mark?”

She frowns and continues to the horse waiting for her near the edge of the grove, “I don’t know, Caddy. Why, is something wrong?”

Caduceus jogs to catch up with her. “No!” he can’t let her know that he doesn’t have one. He can’t quite put his finger on why that would be so bad, but if he thinks about someone knowing, he can feel his stomach revolt at the idea.

She raises an eyebrow at him and looks him up and down, taking in his dirty hands and knees and feet and flushed cheeks. “Cad. I don’t know anything about soulmates, okay? I know you get all whimsical about destiny and faith and all that shit, but don’t worry about it too much. You’re just a kid. Go play in the dirt or whatever, I gotta get to town before it gets dark. Have fun thinking about romance and tragedy, kiddo.”

Caduceus sighs and wipes his hands off on his shirt. Maybe Clarabelle will know. She may be the youngest, but she has a unique perspective on everything under the sun- it can’t hurt to ask.

It’s after dinner when Caduceus gets Clarabelle alone. He would have brought it up at the table, but no one could get a word in edgeways around her talking about how many tries it took to find a plant that would dye her hair the precise shade of blue she’d been looking for. Clarabelle’s a bright kid. Funny, too. No one ever has the heart to interrupt her ramblings.

They’re sitting out back, next to the small pond on the opposite end of the blooming grove, watching the sun spill its rainbow inks through the sky and trees, bathing in the fading light as they tug handfuls of grass out of the ground and throw it into the stagnant water. They’ve hit a lull in the conversation; a gap where Caduceus finally has space to talk.

“Hey, Belle. What do you think happens if you don’t have a soul mark?”

“Oh my god!” she groans, clutching her shins and rocking until her back hits the ground, “I _so_ wish I didn’t have one! I met this girl in town and she’s so mean! She sucks so much, Caduceus! _And_ she has the same soul mark as me! Does that mean I have to spend my whole life with her Cad? That’s gonna suck _balls!_ Not having a soulmate would be the best thing in the world ‘cos then I would get to do whatever I want without someone holding me back all the time!”

“Oh,” Caduceus says. It’s an answer, at least. So it means no one’s holding him back. Holding him back from what? “Do you want help? You want me to have a word with her?”

She rolls her eyes and fails at stifling a smile, “No, Caduceus. I’m just whining, you don’t have to go beating anyone up to defend my honour, or whatever.”

Caduceus grins and sprinkles a handful of grass on her face, “You think I could beat someone up?”

She giggles, “No way! I was being dramatic! Anyway, I don’t think you beating up my soulmate would do much good. Mum and Dad said that you’re stuck with ‘em no matter what.”

“Huh. That doesn’t sound very nice.” Maybe it’s a good thing that he doesn’t have a mark. But then again, if his soulmate were someone he liked, it would be a good thing to be stuck with them, right? He doesn’t say any of this aloud, but Clarabelle has that look on her face like she can see his thoughts, and he doesn’t want that at all, so he gets up and leaves her by the lake, spends the rest of the evening in his room and doesn’t touch the question again for years. Though he still wakes up some days to find no new mark staring back at him in the mirror. Those are the days he wishes he were just a worm, or a beetle, or a snail, or anything with no eyes to see his plain body with.

The question comes back, but in the form of a statement, the night before Corrin and Constance are about to leave.

“Corrin,” Caduceus says, “I don’t have a soul mark.”

They’re the last two up. The fire is burning low and Caduceus is fighting his drooping eyelids with every slow breath and the warmth of the mug in his hands isn’t helping. He doesn’t want to go to bed. He knows they’ll be gone when he wakes up.

Corrin sets a big hand on his shoulder, the crinkles around her eyes deepening as she squeezes, “That’s because you’re too important and loveable to be so exclusive as a soul mark demands. Everyone wants a piece of this.” She pinches his side and he squirms away with a flustered giggle as she digs her fingers in.

“Stop! I’m not a kid anymore!” he shrieks as the tea sloshes over onto his hands.

“Hey,” she says, retreating and patting his cheek, “Yes you are. So don’t worry about this “no mark” shit. It just means that you get to love whoever you want.”

He hums, steadies the mug in his hands. “So I can love everyone? Take care of them?”

“Sure,” she says, eyeing him with a slow, questioning look, “If that’s what you want. You’re free.”

He sighs, the relief flooding his veins visceral and intense. Free. That feels alright. He could be okay with that. “Thanks, Corrin. I think I might go to bed, now.”

She follows him when he stands, drawing him into a rib-crushing hug. “Bye, Caddy. You keep these delinquents safe, won’t you?”

He squeezes back, “I’ll see you soon, Auntie.”

He’s wrong about that.

*

That’s the last time he ever spoke about not having a mark. None of the rest of his family knows, and he prefers to keep it that way. Aside from Clarabelle, they’ve all met their soulmate rather late in life, and Caduceus is more than happy to pretend that he is no exception. That he is just waiting.

He’s finding it peaceful so far, to not have a mark. It’s almost as freeing as Corrin had made it sound. Without a soulmate, he can care for whoever needs it at the time. In the Blooming Grove, it’s those grieving for their loved ones. With the Nein, it’s whoever’s lost the most blood, whoever’s carrying the post-battle baggage.

It’s fine. It’s nice, to have that freedom. And even if he finds himself favouring someone in particular, well, that’s his choice, right? 

But it is a waste, isn’t it? Fjord doesn’t need him all the time, and as much as Caduceus wishes he did, it’s just not realistic to spend all his time on him, not when five other people are depending on him to keep them all in one piece. He needs to be available, needs to be free, for them.

He does find himself unable to resist, sometimes. Even when Jester’s right there to heal him, or Beau’s right there to offer a shoulder to cry on, can’t resist sending another quick prayer to the Wildmother for him, another small word of encouragement to keep him on his feet.

And when he catches himself wondering where Fjord’s mark is, or if he even has one, he tells himself that it’s only because it would be great for Fjord to share in this gift. The gift of getting to choose, to be there for others. He spends so much time trying to convince himself of that that he hardly notices when he stops looking for his mark for those reasons and starts looking for it because, because… 

As insightful as he is, introspection has been becoming rather difficult for Caduceus since he left the grove.

Logically, though, Caduceus should have seen it by now. They share a room every time they stay in a place with four walls. And Fjord, while respectful, isn’t known for his modesty.

Fjord even came to him shirtless after stabbing himself in Uthodurn, and his mark still hasn’t made an appearance. Although, with the glittering euphoria of helping Fjord tease himself out of the grasp of that serpent and into the arms of Melora, he hadn’t remembered to look. It’s after that he comes to the supposed revelation that maybe this is what Caduceus was meant for. He doesn’t _need_ a soulmate to guide those he loves to the Wildmother. And maybe _that’s_ his purpose here.

His crush on Fjord is just a silly fantasy that will fade away soon.

He’s wrong about that, too.

*

“What the fuck do you mean you don’t have a mark, Cad?”

Beau and Caduceus are sitting at the bar of the underground Evening Nip, Beau leaning heavily against the dark, polished wood, a crystal glass clattering against it as she drops it in favour of staring at the firbolg in shock. Caduceus takes a sip of his milk and thanks Melora that the others have gone to bed. The only reason he’s even awake is that he wanted to look after Beau. Anyone could see how quietly she’s trying to lose it about seeing her father again.

He can be here for her. That’s the one great thing about not having a mark- he can care for who he wants, when he wants, and he isn’t dictated by some stupid, meaningless mark on his skin, no matter how often he feels the distant burn of jealousy when Yasha hoists one of her soulmates over her shoulder, or the fizzling longing when he sees Fjord walking by himself.

There’s a difference in the way he wants to be there for Beau, and the way he wants to be _there_ for Fjord. It isn’t the same, but it should be. But it isn’t and Caduceus likes it that way. He _likes_ how he feels around Fjord, even if it gets in the way of him doing what’s right for the group.

This talk shouldn’t be about him, anyway. Beau is hurting, and he should be the shoulder to cry on, not dumping all of his burdens ( _blessings_ , it’s a _blessing_ ) on her. But she’d asked. So he’d answered. 

“I just don’t,” he shrugs.

Beau gives a disbelieving shake of her head, some of her hair slipping free of its ties and falling into her flushed face, “So you’ve just been sitting here, listening to me gush about my soulmates, while you don’t have one. Cad, I am _so_ sorry, why didn’t you stop me?” 

He shrugs again, uncomfortable with the unexpected questioning. He won’t admit to it, though, and she doesn’t need to know. “I don’t mind, Beau.” 

She takes a sip of her drink and rotates on her stool so that she’s facing him. She eyes him over, trademark frown tugging her face into something analysing and sour, “Are you sure you don’t have one?”

He chuckles, grips his glass of milk a little tighter, “I mean… there are spots that I haven’t checked, but… I just know. I don’t have a mark, I don’t have a soulmate, and that’s fine.” He turns to meet her gaze, then drops it immediately. Her eyes are too filled with scrutiny, and something akin to pity that he was not at all prepared to see. Especially not from Beau.

“Do you want me to check for you? You know… if you wanted to make _sure_ sure?” She says, tossing a sloppy gesture at the extent of his body.

“Wow,” he hums, “You would do that? That’s a big offer.”

She scoffs, knocks back the rest of her drink and signals for another, “It’s just bodies. And we’re friends, you deserve this opportunity. And hey, you don’ have to, only if you’re comfortable.” 

Caduceus considers it, shifts his glass around on the counter and focuses on the sound it makes as it slides across the wood. “No, thank you, Beau. It’s a kind offer, but I don’t want you to do that.”

“Okay,” she shrugs, “That’s fine. No problem.”

They sit in silence for a moment, but Caduceus knows the conversation isn’t over. There’s an odd set to Beau’s lip, a shine in her eye, and a nervous trembling in Caduceus’ stomach that tells him they aren’t quite done with it.

“Caddy…” she whispers when she’s halfway through her next drink, “I am so sorry. I… I’m just thinking, what shit would be like without Yasha and Jester. Without knowing they’ll always be there, even when they’re not. I am _so_ sorry.” She turns to him again and reaches her arms around his slender shoulders, pulling him down into an awkward hug. “You could have told me, you know?”

The roiling in his belly doesn’t get better. In fact, it gets worse and now it’s accompanied by a heat behind his eyes that makes it hard to swallow down his sip of milk. “I… it really doesn’t bother me,” he tries again, the faint warble in his voice underselling him completely, “It’s a gift to not have one. I can care for whoever I want.” 

She squeezes him tighter when his voice breaks, and he lets himself fold down into her arms, fitting his head onto her shoulder so she can pat his back, all awkward and rough, just like Beau. “I might not be as insightful as you, but that’s bullshit Cad. You are hurting.”

No. _No_. That’s not right. Caduceus is not hurting, he is _fine_. He is here, with this wonderful, amazing, beautiful group because he loves them, and he keeps them safe. _They_ get hurt, and he heals them. _They_ cry, and he comforts them. Caduceus doesn’t hurt. He’s not allowed, this isn’t what he was _made_ for, he-

“I’m not,” he squeaks.

Beau scoffs a humourless chuckle into his shoulder. “You _are_ ,” she insists.

“I’m not!” Caduceus says. When he leans back from Beau and sees the shock and concern on her face, he realises the words had come out in a shout and claps a hand over his mouth.

She reaches out to him, as tentative as Beau can get, and rubs his shoulders, searching his eyes for something. He doesn’t know what she finds, but he’s pretty sure it breaks when she says, one last time, “You are.”

Caduceus squeezes his eyes shut and doesn’t let the whimper escape until Beau climbs up onto her knees on her stool and guides his face into her shoulder. He unclasps his hand from his mouth and winds his fingers into the back of Beau’s shirt, shaking a series of rough little sobs into the crook of her neck.

“Oh, Caddy,” she shushes, “You can care for whoever you want even with a soulmate, alright? I have two- sorry, didn’t mean to rub it in- but I still care about you, don’t I?”

Caduceus sniffs.

“Hey,” she says, rocking them both back and forth, “ _don’t I?_ ”

“Mm-hm,” he says, holding her closer. She shuffles the stool forward and hugs him tighter in return. “I- I’ve w-watched everyone in my life go off in p-pairs. I spent such a long time alone; I should be used to it. I should be used to it.”

She presses a kiss to the side of his head, “No one should be alone, babe. And you aren’t. We love you; I promise.”

Caduceus responds only with a tiny hiccup.

“ _I_ love you, Cad. Don’t forget it. And whatever god it was that decided to deprive you of the wonderful love story you deserve, I’ll fuck ‘em up, ‘kay?”

He manages a weak chuckle, “Love you, Beau.”

“Good,” she grunts, leaning back and brushing a tear off his cheek. It doesn’t do much- his face is too wet. “Let’s get you another shot of milk, huh?”

Caduceus rewards that with a watery giggle and spends the next hour letting Beau drink herself to sleep against his shoulder. He carries her up to their rooms and deposits her next to a snoring Jester before retiring to his bed.

*

The way the pool’s water is lit from within by various bioluminescent plants casts bright shadows on the dark walls of the Stones’ temple. It’s mesmerising, and if Caduceus wasn’t sitting next to his mother, who he hadn’t seen or heard from in years, he’d be transfixed. As it stands, their feet are in the water, pruning their skin and leeching the warmth of that horrifying beach from their bones, and Caduceus can’t take his eyes off her- not a day older than when she’d left.

“It’s been a while hasn’t it?” She says, watching the way he watches her, a begrudging certainty in the question. 

“10 years,” he says, wiggling his toes and following the ripple to the edge. “Give or take.”

She sighs and squeezes her eyes shut like she can’t bear to see a world ten years older than the one she’d left. “A decade… and you found us.”

“Of course,” he says.

“Caduceus, I am so thankful. And so _proud_ of you,” she reaches over to pat his face, brushing along his cheekbone like she used to when he’d cry about stepping on a snail.

“Well, someone had to save you,” he chuckles, trying to inject some humour into the conversation. It isn’t often he finds himself the one in need of grief counselling, and he’s having trouble taking his own advice- let yourself be sad.

She shrugs, “That too, but it’s not what I meant. I never would have told you to stay in the grove if I’d known we’d be away so long. I’m so proud you had the courage to leave, and to find your people.” She gestures in the general direction of where the Nein are supposed to be sleeping.

He frowns, “But… you’re my people.”

She smiles, eyes glittering, and tucks a lock of fading pink behind his ear, “We are your family. Always will be. But you need something more than us, always have. Something more than the grove. These are your people, and I’m so glad they found you. So glad you found them.”

He sighs and purses his lips, mulling over her words. “Mum… you’ve always known I never had a mark, haven’t you?”

She nods, “I’m your mother, Caduceus. Of course I fucking knew.” Her tone is jovial, but the way she grabs his hand and turns her gaze to stare into the water is anything but.

“I… you never taught me how to deal with it,” he says. He isn’t trying to blame her for anything, but no matter how much he lowers his voice, his tone doesn’t get any less accusatory.

She sighs and nods, presses the back of her hand to her lips, “I know. I never knew how. I’m sorry I didn’t try. I’m sorry you were alone. In not having a mark, in the Blooming Grove. Alone at all. I’m so sorry, Caduceus.”

“It’s alright,” he whispers, gripping her hand tighter, “It was necessary. I understand.”

Constance scoffs, “Apparently not. You were the only one to make it here alive. We never should have left you alone. I’m so grateful that you found others to love you, and I’m so sorry we left.”

“Mum…” he starts.

“No, listen,” she cuts him off. “You deserved more than what we gave you. You have every right to be mad, or upset, or betrayed, and if you have to stay with these people- oh, hush, I know that’s what you were trying to tell me- that’s fine. Just know that your first family is there for you when you need us. As long as there isn’t another iron bull waiting for us out there, we won’t abandon you again. You aren’t alone.”

She pulls him into her side, and he pillows his head on her shoulder, breathing in the smell of home that he’s missed for so long. “Thanks, Mum,” he sniffs.

“No. Thank you,” she ruffles his hair. “Now tell me about that orc boy. I saw you keeping an eye on him.”

Caduceus groans as she pinches his cheek with a breathy chuckle. He laughs, squirming away from her hand, and splashes his feet into the water in the hopes that he might disguise the wetness on his cheeks.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the clays... i care them ;w;
> 
> feel free to leave a comment I love to hear what yall think! and if you think something needs its own tag or content warning pls let me know! <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A belated discovery and a nice chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> halfway there! I've been super excited for this chapter I wish Id got around to it sooner ;w;
> 
> content warnings: body horror (dream), vomit
> 
> enjoy :0

The atmosphere on the ship is… awkward after the night Jester found her mark. Everyone’s surmised from their weird sidebar on the docks that they must have had something going on when Jester thought she was one of those poor souls without a cosmic love. Fjord hopes they haven’t put the pieces together and realised that he never had one either.

It’s been days and Fjord still hasn’t figured out a convincing lie to tell the others that would explain what happened while downplaying any suspicions they may have about his stupid mark-less body or some hidden romance between him and Jester. He’s had the time for it. Nothing _but_ time.

Caduceus has been avoiding Fjord since he shrugged him off that night. He doesn’t know if he offended the firbolg or if he’s just trying to give him room, but in any case, Fjord misses him- misses the cryptic wisdom, the sweet smiles. He can’t distract himself from it either, because everyone else seems to be following suit in giving their captain a wide berth. 

Veth and Caleb have been shooting him odd and sometimes scathing looks all week. Beau has been side-eyeing him too, but her and Yasha seem to be more than preoccupied with their newfound lover.

Even Jester, for all her remorse the other night, has abandoned any qualms she may have had about talking about her soulmates to anyone who might listen. She gushes about how warm it is sleeping pressed between them and the other two are clearly exalted with the addition- they can hardly seem to spare a moment away from her.

Fjord’s happy for them, and that isn’t a lie. He’s never seen a group of people so completely made for each other. Now he just needs to work on being happy for himself.

But being alone isn’t making accomplishing that task any easier.

It’s after a particularly lonesome day on the open ocean that Fjord finds himself tossing and turning in his captain’s quarters. The room is by far the most luxurious on the ship- though it doesn’t hold a flame to any lodgings they’d stayed in on solid land- with a four-post bed, clean sheets, and thick blankets. Tonight, though, the sheets itch at Fjord’s skin and the blankets weigh far too heavy on his bones.

He falls asleep under the sensation of drowning. And he dreams.

But not of Uk’otoa, or Avantika. Not even of Vandran or Sabian.

He’s back in Uthodurn. He knows the Nein are sleeping behind him as he gets up and finds his way through the arching hallways to the Kiln, the molten earth simmering away and casting its dripping orange light across the smooth stone walls. Fjord remembers the light to be warm and welcoming. But here it just looks… empty. And cold. The amber hues and scalding reds sit frigid across the massive expanse of carved stone and highlight Caduceus’ face a sickening greying yellow.

Caduceus is sitting at the edge of the lake of fire, cross-legged as if he were meditating, back to his companion. As Fjord approaches, he leans forward, towards the pit. Fjord circles around so that he can see the firbolg’s face in profile, so he can see that serene look of concentration that comes with communion as he tilts forward, hand extended, and dips it right into the burbling pool.

Fjord’s stomach goes cold with fear as Caduceus scoops up a handful of molten rock, but he can’t make himself move, can’t get himself to jerk forward and seize his wrist before his fingers make contact. Instead, he hears himself say, “Cad? Are you alright?”

Caduceus’ ear twitches, and he turns a fraction toward his friend. “Hm? Yeah, I’m fine.” He turns back, lifts his hand to eye level and watches the scorching liquid sear his flesh away and drip down his wrist before glopping onto the floor just inches from his bare feet. His face remains no different than if he were watching a moth land on the crystals of his staff. And Fjord is still frozen in abject terror.

He’s as beautiful as ever in the burning cold light of the Kiln, pale pink hair fluttering in an improbable breeze and soft lashes blinking sluggishly over wide shining eyes. But he looks tired. The strands of white in his hair starker than ever, eyes intense yet listless as his breaths come laboured.

“Fjord,” Caduceus says with a shuddering gasp- like it’d taken a momentous effort to eek the word out, “Do you need something? Healing? Food? Tea? Anything at all?”

Fjord shakes his head, “No, Caduceus, I-.”

Before he can finish- what had he been about to say, anyway?- there’s a scream from down the hall. Fjord can’t quite pinpoint who it might be- at first it sounds like Caleb, then Nott… then Beau and Yasha, and even for a split-second Fjord thinks he recognises Molly. It doesn’t matter who it was, Caduceus is now scrambling up, head snapping toward the noise as he flicks off the hardening blobs of lava. Fjord thinks he sees the wet shine of bone where his fingers should be as he takes off at a run.

Fjord follows him, and for a few stretching minutes he’s just chasing him through winding stone hallways, lit by no flame. Then Fjord rounds a corner, still following the elusive whip of pink hair, and is met with a cold breeze, stiff enough to knock him on his ass. When he sits up, the world is white with snow, and the Kiln is nowhere in sight. But he does recognise their surroundings.

They’re in the mountain pass where Caduceus had been swallowed by a giant snow worm, and it’s happening all over again. It’s just like it was before; Caleb and Nott scattered on the edges of the battlefield, Beau lying on the ground where she’d fallen from atop the thing’s head. Caduceus is straining toward her, arms outstretched from between its teeth as he tries in vain to heal her from his position within its mouth. Fjord can see his lips moving, uttering frantic prayers to the Wildmother to heal his friend as he continues to slip down its throat.

Fjord struggles up, bare feet slipping in the stinging cold of the snow, and runs to Caduceus. The sludge seems to suck at him, gripping around his ankles and pulling him down deeper into it while every step seems to push Caduceus further in. He can hardly see his face anymore, just a slip of hair, an ear, and an arm still clawing toward Beau, now unconscious on the ground.

“Caduceus, what are you doing?!” Fjord screams, scrabbling at the snow around his calves, trying to get free as his fingers turn numb, “Heal yourself!”

The hand dangling from the worm’s swinging head redirects, pushing against its lip until Caduceus’ head is poking between two giant spears of teeth. “Fjord!” He gasps, the ragged sound whipped away on the harsh wind. He’s still so pale, lips blue, the skin beneath his eyes a deep grey. “Fjord,” he says again, a mere whisper that echoes in Fjord’s head, and reaches out, familiar warming energy crackling at his fingertips as he tries to heal _Fjord_ of all people as if he needs it. As if he _deserves_ it.

“No, Cad!” he yells, freeing a foot and taking another step forward, toes instantly sinking through a metre of snow to meet solid ground. When had it reached his waist? “Heal yourself, _please!_ ”

The creature rears its head back and opens its mouth wide and Caduceus slips out of sight and its throat convulses around something- _someone_ \- unseen. There is no longer any snow trapping Fjord in place, so he runs toward it. 

He’s stopped by a hand on his shoulder. Beau is brushing herself off, glaring at him through bruised skin as she says, “He doesn’t need you, Fjord.”

“Wh-? Beau-,” he starts, reaching toward her as she steps away.

“No one does,” she interrupts, scowling back at him before she vaults up a nearby tree, springs off a few branches, and dives at the creature. Instead of pummelling it with a flurry of blows, she skips into its waiting mouth and slams its jaw shut on top of her like a petulant child’s bedroom door.

“Beau! What are you-!” He thrusts his hand out beside him, summoning the summer’s dance falchion and finding no familiar splash of saltwater. That’s right. He’s powerless. Just as he looks back after finding no sword in his hand, the creature clamps its jaw shut and chews, sending the echoing crunch of bone and horrifying squelch of flesh ricocheting off the mountain walls and inside Fjord’s head. The snow is back, and it's thick up to his neck.

When he wakes, just like he’d fallen unconscious, it’s to the sensation of drowning in thick cold sludge, and before he can even get his bearings he’s leaning over the balcony and emptying the contents of his stomach into the ocean below. He retches for an indeterminate amount of time before he slumps down against the doorway and draws in several shuddering breaths, trying to shiver some warmth back into his rattling bones. 

He makes his way out onto the deck, needing some fresh air and a good look at the stars. The night isn’t too cold, but Fjord would give anything to be sitting around a campfire with his friends at this moment. He needs some warmth and company, two things he hasn’t seen much of lately.

As he settles down on the port bow, the dream comes back to him in fragments, a snapshot slideshow featuring how tired Caduceus had looked as he’d gazed with that peaceful sort of reverence at his hand melting away with the molten rock. He’s not an idiot, he can figure out what the dream means well enough. Caduceus has indeed had problems with putting others before himself in the past. And Fjord does feel useless, especially when it comes to helping Caduceus help himself.

But the dream’s right. He can’t let his problems moor him down while his friend needs help. Even if his problems very much involve how much he wants to be more than friends with that particular member of the Mighty Nein.

He tilts his head back to find the night clear of clouds and the stars above shining bright. He lets his back hit the deck and thinks of how Caduceus’ eyes had glimmered like these lights the night Jester had found her mark, how warm his hands had been and how much he’d wanted to lean into him as they’d walked back to the ship. He thinks about how dull Caduceus’ eyes had been in the dream, thinks how terrible he’d feel if it became a reality. Caduceus has such nice eyes, after all.

Fjord turns his head, looking for his favourite constellation, and sees another light, yellow-orange, smaller and brighter than the pinpricks in the heavens above, and realises someone is sitting up in the crow’s nest. It could be Orly or one of the other crew keeping watch. But Fjord knows it’ll be Jester or Caduceus, both of which he needs to have a chat with soon, despite the nagging bite of nerves and nausea in his gut.

His hands and legs tremble on the way up the mast, but its more than worth the discomfort when he finds Caduceus sitting up there, teacup in hand. His head tilted back, eyes closed, a serene smile on his face as he soaks in the moonlight. There’s a light flush high on his cheekbones as he inhales the steam wafting up from his cup and, though not exactly rested, he looks healthy. It appears the dream hadn’t been as prophetic as he’d feared.

His lashes cast dripping shadows down his cheeks and his long, rounded ears twitch as Fjord lets out a sigh at the sight. “Hey, Cad,” he says as the firbolg turns his gentle gaze on him. “You getting high?”

Caduceus grins, “No. Just wanted to keep an eye on things up here. Relax by myself. The group has been… tense since we set sail. I never knew a group could feel so awkward even in sleep.” He looks back up into the sky and taps a rhythm out on the ceramic of his mug. 

“Yeah, that’s my fault,” he says, not too quiet that Caduceus can’t hear, but enough that he won’t follow it up. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” he answers, blurting it out almost before Fjord had finished asking. “Come on up.”

Fjord climbs the rest of the way into the crow’s nest and settles down on one of the many pillows strewn around. He accepts the proffered teacup and stifles the rush of fondness at the fact that Cad had one ready for someone to come up and join him, even if Fjord hadn’t been the one he had in mind.

“So… wha’cha thinking about?” He asks, taking a sip of the tea. It’s herbal and sweet, with an aftertaste of cinnamon that coats the back of his tongue. When it reaches his belly the warmth of it spools out and curls around his limbs and smothers the nauseous worm that had been making a home there since he’d woken up.

“Nothing, really,” Caduceus says, eyes sinking to his kettle on the floor and fingers of one hand scratching at the nailbed of the other. Fjord’s never seen him _lie_ before. “Just looking.”

What could Caduceus want to hide? Apart from a little joke here or there or being a bit too cryptic when he doesn’t need to be, Caduceus has never strayed from the truth. He’s always been such an open book- so much so that it almost demands the same from others. But now he’s hiding something. Of course, he has every right to have his private thoughts, and it could just be that he was thinking something silly or embarrassing and didn’t want to share, but he’s never been one for being self-conscious, either.

Maybe he’ll open up more if Fjord does. Gods know that he needs to do more for the over-worked cleric if that dream is any indication. And if anything will help ease the tension, at least with Caduceus, it’ll be telling the truth. It’s what he deserves.

“Um…” a great start, “Sorry I was so cold to you the other night, Caduceus. It wasn’t nice of me at all and I know it’s not much consolation, but I was a bit stressed.”

Caduceus is looking at him, pricked ears soaking in everything he has to say. 

Having started, and with those big imploring eyes on him, it’s hard to stop. “Jester and I, we had sort of a… an arrangement. Before she found her mark. It was kind of a shock and I really shouldn’t have been such a di-.” 

“You were romantically involved with Jester?” Caduceus interrupts, eyes widening.

“What? NO! _No_ , no. We just… we liked to support each other not having a mark. B-because I don’t have one like she thought she didn’t have one,” Fjord’s heart seizes at the admission and he holds his breath, waiting for a response.

Caduceus blinks once slow, then twice fast, eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. His lips part as he looks up and down Fjord’s face. “You don’t have a soul mark?” His stare is intent, gaze running over the exposed skin at his neck, down to his wrists and chest and legs and feet, searching and finding… nothing, presumably.

“Nope,” Fjord answers with a nervous chuckle, “Never have. Um… you’re- you’re wise, Caduceus. Do you know what that means? To not have one?”

Caduceus only seems to register what Fjord had asked when he’s done looking him over, but when he does, he pulls a face like he’s just bitten into a lemon, rind intact. Fjord’s never seen that reaction before, and he can’t quite parse what it might mean.

“I’m not sure,” he says, scratching at the thicker fuzz on his chin and tilting his head back against the mast, “I’ve been trying to figure that one out. Everybody has something different to say on the matter. I was just thinking about it, actually.”

He looks pretty in the moonlight. He always looks pretty, of course, Fjord would know, but the bright light of moon and stars reflects in his soft eyes, and his pale pink lashes send shadows sprawling down his finely furred cheeks. His hair flutters in the wind, and Fjord wants nothing more than to wrap the delicate strands around his fingers. He’s been alone the last few days. He knows now what it means when his mind wanders to their cleric when it has no place else to be.

“You said you weren’t thinking, Caduceus.”

He ducks his head in a loose nod, “I lied. But you knew that.”

Fjord takes a sip of his tea. “Yeah. You know, for someone who picks up on everything you sure can’t lie for shit.”

Caduceus chuckles and Fjord almost forgets to follow his line of questioning in favour of watching his eyes crinkle and his fingers tap around the cup. “Why… why were you thinking about it?”

“Hm,” he sips at his cup, “It’s been weird… reconciling every opinion that I’ve come across about it with every other. I’ve asked so many people, trying to figure it out… figure out why I don’t have one. Is it that I am not meant to love? Is it that I am meant to love all? I-.”

“Cad, _what?_ ” Had Fjord heard that right? Had Caduceus just said, ‘I don’t have one’? The notion that Caduceus doesn’t have a mark, just like Fjord, that he doesn’t have some perfect match waiting to find him, doesn’t have a future with a loving partner, _just like Fjord_ … he can’t fathom it- it’s like he can feel his brain trying to get a grip on the idea, squeezing too hard like a wet hand around a bar of soap.

Caduceus looks over, alarmed, “What? What’d I say?”

Fjord blinks, stutters, “Did you say you don’t have a mark?”

Caduceus frowns, unsure what Fjord might be so stumped over. “Did you… not know?” 

“Not know?? _Yes_ , how would I _know_ that?” Fjord splutters, tea sloshing out of his cup as he waves his hands around. There is so much to- to think about. To say, to _do_. So much to reconcile and compartmentalize and rationalize, and Caduceus is acting like this isn’t a huge deal? Fjord was alone. Then he wasn’t because he had Jester. Then he was because he didn’t have Jester. Now he… isn’t?

“Huh,” Caduceus is saying. “Beau didn’t know either.”

“You told Beau?” 

“Yes.” Cad sips his tea. Pours himself some more.

“And you didn’t tell me?” Fjord squeaks, betrayed. “I mean… you didn’t tell anyone else?”

Caduceus squints at him, then turns his gaze out to sea with that same unfamiliar frown on his face. “I thought everyone knew? They never asked about it. Everybody’s always talking about their marks, so I had assumed they weren’t asking about mine because they already knew I didn’t have one. Sorry…” he mumbles, “It made sense to me.” 

“I don’t know that everyone’s talking about it. I think Veth and Jes talk about it enough for all of us,” Fjord says, draining his cooling tea and shivering against the sea slick boards beneath.

Caduceus hums, watching Fjord hug his knees to his chest. “Are you cold, Fjord?” 

“No,” Fjord lies. Caduceus doesn’t need to take care of him more than he already has. He shivers again.

Caduceus leans around the mast and pulls something back with him. Fjord doesn’t pay too much attention, looking out at the waves lapping the side of the boat instead. Then there’s a blanket around his shoulders, warm hands rubbing the heat back into his body, and Fjord is suddenly sweating in the heat of it all. The hands retreat, and Fjord laments their departure, wishing they would stay even after he catches fire.

“I shaved my head once,” Fjord blurts, pulling the blanket tight around his shoulders. “I was trying to find a mark. There was nothing.”

“Why do you want one so bad?” Caduceus asks, filling Fjord’s cup and handing it back to him.

“And you don’t?” It comes out a little snappy, and Fjord finds himself recoiling at his own words. Caduceus doesn’t answer; doesn’t look at him. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have… I guess I just want to know that there’s someone out there who will love me no matter what. Who I can love in return. I’ve never had that. The Mighty Nein is great but… I don’t know. Sorry.” 

The Mighty Nein is great. But it’s not enough. Fjord couldn’t hug Veth or dance with Caleb or kiss Beau or hold Yasha’s face in his hands. He loves them dearly, of _course_. But he’s missing something. He’s missing so much that he aches with it.

Caduceus sets his tea down and laces his fingers in his lap. He isn’t looking at Fjord, but it feels like he’s speaking into his soul, and the breeze starts to feel a touch warmer. “When I was young, my aunt told me it was a gift to not have one. Because then I could choose who I cared about. Thought I’d make a better healer, a better voice for the Mother, if I chose to care for everyone.”

“Is that the aunt that we glued back together?” Fjord whispers without thinking. “Sorry! That was insensitive.”

“Yeah, that’s her. Corrin,” Caduceus confirms with a small, rueful smile. “I don’t think she was right. Beau doesn’t either. I think the freedom can be nice though. No pressure to find the One before your time is up, right?” 

“That’s… very morbid Caduceus,” Fjord chuckles. “And I don’t think it outweighs the negatives.” 

“It doesn’t.” Cad sniffs. Then shivers.

Fjord shuffles closer and offers the edge of the blanket. Caduceus glances at him, then away, then back again. He takes in the sight of Fjord offering half his blanket with a disbelieving smile and scoots himself in, hunching to fit under it with Fjord.

The blanket isn’t big, so Caduceus has to smash himself against Fjord to keep them both sheltered from the cold. Within minutes Fjord’s warmed to the core, cheeks undoubtedly red as berries. Fjord thinks the heat of the firbolg is a little improbable, given how skinny he is, but the light fuzz must work as pretty decent insulation… and a comfortable pillow, he imagines. He wants to put his arm around him and nuzzle into his shoulder. But he doesn’t. Because being here with him is enough.

“This is enough,” Caduceus says, voice rumbling through his shoulder, into Fjord’s chest. Fjord gets the idea that the firbolg plucked the thought right from his mind.

“What is?” Fjord asks.

“The Mighty Nein. You. It’s more than enough. I love you all,” Caduceus says, hardly above a whisper.

Fjord leans hard into Caduceus’ shoulder, buzzing at his words and delighting in the way he tentatively leans his head down to meet Fjord’s. “I love us, too,” he says, wishing he could scrub Caduceus’ last word away, wishing he had meant it like Fjord craves for him to mean it.

“It’s nice up here,” Caduceus says. Fjord can feel his voice in his arm and his cheek move against his hair. “Do you want to sleep up here? We could meditate at dawn?”

Fjord sighs, “I’d like that, Caduceus.”

Caduceus hums and after a moment Fjord’s almost sure that he must have fallen asleep before he speaks again, “Wait. Why did you come up here, Fjord?”

“To find you, Caduceus.”

The smile Fjord feels against his temple is blinding and bashful, and though he can’t see it, Fjord knows it must be one of those big toothy grins he gives when someone compliments his tea or thanks him for the food he’s cooked. “I’m glad,” he says when he moves away and starts to shift pillows around into something more comfortable.

Fjord wakes the next morning to find Caduceus’ arm slung over his waist and his hair fanning out over his chest. The snoring in his ear is maybe not the most pleasant, but Fjord’s struck with the sudden thought- he doesn’t need a soulmate. Because while the Nein may not be everything he needs, being here in the crow’s nest with Caduceus’ hair in his mouth, back aching from sleeping on the ground… this is enough.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! Would love to know what y'all think!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh gosh o no theres only one bed..  
> content warnings: body horror, violence  
> spoilers for ep 98
> 
> enjoy! :0

Caduceus has never been so scared as when Fjord went down in that fight.

It comes from nowhere, it seems. They’d all been asleep, then not. They hadn’t time to get their bearings, dodging walls of blades and bursts of fire, caught up in something no one was prepared for. Then that thing had taken its final step toward Fjord’s unconscious form, blade aloft, and Caduceus had known all too well where he was, and where he _should have been_.

Yes, Caduceus had never been so terrified.

But more than that, he’s never felt quite so _livid_. It’s hardly different, Caduceus thinks, to if he had seen a member of his own family struck down, or if he had been felled to the deck. It certainly feels as if a blade has sunk deep inside him. It certainly feels like his chest is bleeding, bleeding like his heart might fall out at any second.

Uk’otoa’s puppet carves deep into Fjord’s chest, and Caduceus doesn’t have the room to think of anything else but getting across this fucking boat as the battle clatters on around him. He casts and shields and takes hits and sees it all in red until every last one has slumped to the deck or slunk overboard, and Fjord is laying in front of him. It takes a lot to stay his hands enough to push a diamond into his seeping chest, takes more not to let the tears slip and the sob break.

When Fjord jerks awake, all Caduceus can do is sit back and let the anger drain out from where his trembling fingertips press against the salty deck. It leaves him shaking and exhausted. And as Fjord shudders back to consciousness, he wonders where all that fire had come from. He’s never felt so hot, and scared, and wounded, and so… filled with hate. He’s never felt such _rage_.

Or maybe he’s just never identified it before now. Maybe he’s never encountered the right catalyst to allow his gaze to turn inwards and see something so ugly and beautiful and terrifying as what he feels when Fjord is hurt.

Caduceus pours another bout of his healing magics into Fjord and watches his body convulse against that evil stone and for the first time Caduceus recognises that sweet twisting thing inside him as love. 

*

Fjord isn’t worried when he sees Caduceus disappear into the tunnel. They had no plan in place to go down there, but Caduceus is a curious guy, and Fjord shouldn’t be one to judge for touching things he shouldn’t. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to keep Caduceus safe. So, of course, he follows him, because of course he’d been watching him. When is he not? 

When Fjord sees Caduceus’ eyes all lit up with that unnerving glow, his chest feels a lot like those flowers on the wall- all bright and dangerous. He’s hot all over- his throat is burning, belly swimming in this uncomfortable heat as Caduceus breaks free from his grasp once more. 

Fjord can’t save him. The rage against this island and its fake god fizzles out and dissipates inside until all that’s left is a white-hot fear simmering against his ribcage. Caduceus is heading toward Vokodo by himself and there’s no way to stop him.

Fjord breaks the surface again and feels that thundering ‘now’ rip from his throat. Beau and Caleb dive off the side of the ships they’d been burning, slice through the water towards their cleric as Fjord uselessly treads water, and all at once he knows that this isn’t some silly crush any more.

In the tense quiet of the minutes waiting for them to return with a bruised and battered but mostly unharmed Caduceus, Fjord realises that maybe it had never been.

Caduceus drips his way over to a secluded patch on an unburnt deck and settles down to ring the water out of his gauze sleeve and shut his eyes for a quick meditation. Fjord eyes him- waiting for a concerned twitch of his brow or more ominous glowing eyes or a quirk in his lips to let Fjord know he’s seen the Wildmother or even just a contented sigh to know that he’s comfortable.

He’s never cared for someone quite as much as this. He’d looked after some of the younger kids at the orphanage and helped out the less experienced crew members on his ship, of course, that’d been his duty. But what he feels around Caduceus is different. He’s content to just sit and watch him… exist.

So yeah, maybe it’s seeing Caduceus getting eaten by a snow worm or introducing him to Melora or making him some tea or saving his life over and over and over that makes Fjord realise he loves him. Or maybe it’s the way his soft eyes flutter open and find Fjord’s when the Mother speaks, or the sweet smile that accompanies it.

*

It’s not even a big fight. The Nein have seen their fair share of epic battles, and this was not supposed to be one of them. They aren’t taking down Iron Shepherds or Avantika and Uk’otoa’s armies or Oban and the Laughing Hand. They haven’t even formulated their plan to kill Ikithon or thought about what horrors await them in Eiselcross. But this is somehow what takes Caduceus down. 

They’re mere miles from the last northern town before chilly out-of-the-way villages start to give way to the barren icy tundras of their destination. What emerges from the cold-stripped trees and thorny bushes is something akin to the giant snow worm they’d encountered in the mountain pass, this time grey like the icy sludge coating the frozen dirt, and half slithering, half skittering toward them on flattened stubby fins. 

They aren’t near as big as that thing that had swallowed Caduceus, but what they lack in size, they make up for in numbers and firepower. If Fjord’s brain weren’t fried from panic and the scent of singed fur carried on the harsh wind he might be impressed by the speed and efficiency of their attacks given their laughable length.

But Fjord isn’t thinking about that, nor is anyone else. He isn’t even thinking about how the burnt hole in his coat is letting in the freezing wind. Isn’t thinking about how his shin is leaking a steady stream of blood down into his boot where one of them had bitten into him before he’d cleaved its head off. Because Caduceus is on the ground, and he isn’t moving.

He’s halfway there when he sees another sneak out of a squat bush on the side of the track and dart toward the firbolg sprawled across the ground. He’s _halfway there_ when he’s bowled to the side, knocked on his back and suddenly solely occupied with keeping this thing from sinking its teeth into his throat. He keeps his hands around its neck. He would stare into its eyes if it had any, instead, he’s left to gaze into its snapping maw as its stringy spit is buffeted into his hands and face. 

He turns his head to the side, both so he won’t have to stare down its gullet, and to check on Caduceus. The lizard approaching him is now by his head, mouth hanging open, saliva burning a hole into the shoulder of Caduceus’ coat.

Without thinking, Fjord takes one hand from the creature above him and reaches for Caduceus, sending all three eldritch blasts toward the thing. He doesn’t have time to see if any of them hit before his arm bows under the pressure of his own beast and its teeth scrape against the skin of his throat.

He shouts in panic, a squeaky ‘help’ that does nothing to penetrate the whipping ice of the snow around them when a bolt whistles past, taking the snow lizard skidding along the ground. It twitches once, before falling still.

“Go get him, Fjord!” the paladin hears Veth’s shrill screech from the swaying limbs of a tree, and he’s running again before he’s even registered her words.

Caduceus’ skin is near blue with frost when he drops down beside him, save for where the acid of the beasts is still seeping through his clothes and burning at his delicate fur. Fjord’s hands are on Caduceus’ chest before he can think better of it, and he’s pouring every ounce of healing he has into his friend.

“No, no, no, Cad you can’t die, please-,” he’s muttering, can’t even hear himself above the pounding of his heart and howling of the wind, “- please, Caduceus, don’t die, I love you.”

Fjord doesn’t feel the tears freezing on his cheeks and lashes, he’s concentrating too hard on pushing everything he’s got into this one act, on feeling the Wildmother’s magic flowing through his palms and into Caduceus’ still chest. He feels his healing dry up, the last drop pulsing into the grave cleric. And nothing happens. 

Caduceus is still cold and motionless, Fjord’s fingers seizing in the icy fabric of his coat, and a sound escapes him. An involuntary wail, a whimper that cuts off as a glow erupts from Caduceus’ chest and the warm green of Melora’s light ignites his veins and crawls up Fjord’s arms like welcome vines. For a second, he’s hot all over, warm enough that the tears melt on his face and drip down onto his hands, still pressed to Caduceus’ chest as it jumps with renewed life.

“Caduceus!” He gasps, scrabbling around at his shoulders to bring him to sitting, wanting nothing more than to hold him close but knowing that there just isn’t time. That the battle still swirls on around them like eddies of the biting wind even as Caduceus’ hand momentarily folds over Fjord’s and squeezes with a muffled ‘thank you.’ Then he’s up and casting spirit guardians over a stumbling Beau and growling, sword-swinging Yasha. The moment is over.

Given how bruised and tired they are on the final stretch to their last stop before Eiselcross, it’s odd how warm Fjord feels, palms tingling and chest glowing every time Caduceus’ elbow brushes his shoulder. Maybe it’s frostbite, or maybe Fjord’s just realised he’s in love. Maybe he’s just thinking about how easy it was to fall for the cleric, how absurd the notion of not falling for him is. And through it all, not a single thought on soulmates crosses his mind.

*

They get their regular three rooms that night at the first inn they find. The half-elf manning the bar is a little standoffish at first, but gladly arranges a room for the Mighty Nein once they’ve dug a few gold pieces out of their singed cloaks. No one’s in the mood to hang around the bar for another few hours, so when Fjord finds himself alone in the tavern after even Beau goes to bed early, he retires to his room.

He’s sharing with Caduceus, as per usual, which means he’s in for a night of stiff sleep in a creaky bed and lumpy mattress, forcing himself not to think about what it might be like to sleep in the same bed as the person he loves, soulmate or not. However, what he finds when he pushes open the door isn’t at all conducive to either plan coming to pass.

There’s one bed in the room, and Caduceus is rolling out his bedroll on the floor beside it like he plans to sleep on it. He moves woodenly, folding at the waist to straighten out the roll with a quiet, pained grunt. Fjord may have brought Caduceus back from the brink of death, but that doesn’t mean he got out of that fight without a few lingering burns and bruises.

“Caduceus, what are you doing?” Fjord says, shutting the door behind him.

“Getting ready for bed,” he replies nonchalantly in a way that attempts to mask his laboured breathing. “Sorry, I don’t think I have it in me to meditate tonight. I should be okay by morning if you-.” 

“No, Caduceus, that’s not what I- what are you doing with the bedroll? I’m not letting you sleep on the floor in that… _condition_ ,” he gestures emphatically to Caduceus’ body, which shifts with a strained huff as he replies.

“But where will you sleep?” Caduceus asks, brows tugging inward as he looks around the room as if another bed might appear from thin air. “You took plenty of hits on the road, too, I won’t let you sleep on the floor, either.” 

“I’m fine,” Fjord dismisses with a wave of his hand. He’d indeed taken no small amount of damage- no one got out of that one unscathed except for Veth. “But I’ll be sleeping in the bed.”

Caduceus looks between Fjord and the bed, frown intensifying, then between the bed and his bedroll, then at Fjord with a tilt of his head before saying, “Wait, but-? Oh… uhh,” Caduceus blushes, ears flicking as he fixes his gaze down at his bare feet. “Okay.”

“You might be tall, but you aren’t big, we’ll fit just fine,” Fjord says, trying his best not to let on how cute he thinks Caduceus’ blush is, or how infectious.

Caduceus is a pretty relaxed person, generally speaking, so it doesn’t take long after settling down for Fjord to realise that the tension in the room isn’t from a shitty mattress or scratchy sheets- it’s from how rigidly Caduceus is attempting to sleep beside him. The bed is big enough that they aren’t in danger of touching by accident, but Caduceus still has himself crammed into an uncomfortable wedge on the brink of the bed.

He appears to be asleep. His shoulders are tight and locked up around his ears, but his breathing is slow and even if a touch heavy. After about an hour of trying to sleep, Fjord has convinced himself that Caduceus must be in a lot more pain than he had been letting on and reaches out toward him. 

He gently presses the tips of his fingers into Caduceus’ back and concentrates on pushing whatever healing energy he can muster into his friend. It takes a moment, as tired as Fjord is, but once he finds that warm, seeping flow of energy, he lets it all pass into Caduceus. As he pulls his hand back toward himself, Caduceus’ shoulders unwind a fraction, his whole body sagging into the mattress. Finally, Fjord can relax enough to sleep. 

Fjord doesn’t know what wakes him mere hours later. He’s spent many a night sharing a room with Caduceus, and although he snores like sawing logs, after the first couple of weeks, Fjord had come to find that he almost couldn’t fall asleep without the slow rumbling coming from the bed not too far from his, so it can’t be that keeping him awake.

In fact, it looks like the lack of it is what woke him- the room is dead silent.

Fjord rolls his head to the side, finding Caduceus with his eyes locked to the ceiling, hands clasped tight over his belly where the blankets and sheets have been shoved off him, letting the occasional violent shiver course through his exposed body without breaking his gaze on the boards above. What is he doing with the covers thrown off in this climate? Does he have a death wish?

He squeezes a hand out of his nest of blankets and realises that the sheets haven’t been pushed away from Caduceus- but rather piled on top of Fjord. Had Caduceus seen him shivering and sacrificed his blankets? For Melora’s sake… why can’t he look out for himself for once?

As gently as he can, Fjord lays a hand on Caduceus’ shoulder and shakes him.

“Ah!” Caduceus jerks away from Fjord’s hand, teetering off the bed until he flings and arm and a leg out to catch himself. “Sorry!”

“Sorry!” Fjord returns, holding his hands up in surrender. “I was only trying to see if you were alright. Do you sleep with your eyes open?” 

Caduceus shakes his head and rights himself on the bed with a huff and a wince, settling back on the mattress. His hands reach toward the blankets before pausing and retracting back to his side.

“Cad… are you alright?” Fjord asks.

“Yes, of course I am,” Caduceus whispers. He’s still a terrible liar.

“That’s a lie,” Fjord says. “Look, you don’t have to tell me anything that’s going on with you. You could also tell me everything, it’s up to you. But you have to at least take care of yourself, or I’m going to have to start asking questions.”

Caduceus turns his face away and frowns at the door as another shiver passes through him, strong enough to make his teeth chatter. “I’m fine. There’s nothing going on.” 

“Why did you give me all the blankets when you’re clearing freezing your arse off then?” Fjord rearranges the sheets so that they’re spread evenly over the two of them. 

Caduceus starts to protest before he’s finished neither sentence nor act, “You were cold! You were shivering and I could hear your teeth chattering and I didn’t want you to get hypothermia. I know those things burnt a whole in your only coat.”

“They did, you’re right. But your coat is also in shreds, so it’s not like you deserve the blankets any less,” Fjord reasons, then sighs, “Look, it seems like no blankets is bad for both of us, and a normal amount of blankets isn’t enough for either of us. So how about we meet in the middle and just… squeeze together a little bit. You know- cuddle, share body heat. If you want.”

“I’m not cold, I’m fine,” Caduceus says through chattering teeth. 

“Stop lying,” Fjord insists softly, “Let me take care of you for once. Now you don’t have to cuddle if you don’t want, but I’d like to if you’re comfortable with it. It’ll be like in the dome, except without everyone else. Or like up in the crow’s nest.”

“You… you want to?” Caduceus says, eyeing him with a strange look. His gaze is hovering around Fjord’s left eyebrow, and he remembers that Caduceus can’t see in the dark. Fjord can see just fine- Caduceus’ grey cheeks are dusted pink and Fjord gets the odd feeling that it’s not from the chill. 

“Sure. It’s fucking freezing in here.”

“Alright.”

“Good,” Fjord breathes, “Roll over, then.” 

Caduceus does as he’s told, turning over and letting Fjord fold himself around his back, fitting an arm around his waist and tucking his face into the nape of his neck. The cleric relaxes into his arms at once, tugging the sheets up around them both and sliding his hand over Fjord’s, a layer of cotton between them.

For as skinny as he is, Caduceus practically radiates heat. It knocks Fjord out immediately and he sleeps like the dead until the grey light of approaching dawn begins to peek in from beneath the moth-eaten curtains. But it isn’t the light that wakes him, it’s the gentle rumble of Caduceus speaking against his chest.

“Mr Fjord?” He says, voice clogged with sleep and apprehension.

“Yes, Mr Clay?” Fjord mumbles into the back of his shift, doing his best to get the sheets back up over his shoulders without removing his arm from around Caduceus.

“I heard what you said. When you came to my aid?” He says. There’s no particular inflection to the way he says it, and that makes Fjord think he’s been awake for a while, thinking on how to say what he wants just right.

Fjord hums, unsure what Caduceus might be referring to. He babbles when he’s anxious, and to call what he felt when Caduceus fell in that fight ‘anxiety’ is somewhat of a gross understatement, so there’s no accounting for- or remembering- what he could have said to Caduceus when he got to his side. “What did I say?” 

Caduceus shifts, rolling over so that he’s facing Fjord, the action stiff and tedious. Fjord instinctually touches his palm to his back and heals him some more, watches the tension bleed from his love’s bones.

Caduceus sighs at the touch, eyelids drooping in relief before he fixes Fjord with an odd look. A look that starts searching and curious and determined, a look that ends awed and giddy. A look of realisation.

The firbolg grins, a big bright thing that reveals crooked teeth and crinkles his nose, “You love me.”

“I… Yes, I do,” Fjord chuckles, surprised that it isn’t even hard to admit. “I really do.” 

Caduceus fights to keep the smile on his face at a minimum, at least enough so he can speak when he asks, “Can I kiss you?” 

“Yea-,” Fjord starts, then lets the word disappear into Caduceus’ mouth as it lands on his. His lips are chapped from the bitter weather, but soft and warm enough that Fjord doesn’t mind at all- he’d be a hypocrite if he did. The kiss itself is sweet and unhurried, gentle and curious in ways that Fjord knows only Caduceus could be. Technically speaking, it isn’t a great kiss, but Fjord could not care less, because Caduceus is kissing him, and they’ve been cuddling in bed all night, and Fjord is so in _love_. 

Fjord breaks away a few times, not getting too far after seeing the way Caduceus eyes linger on him, dark and bright. After the fourth peck, Fjord succeeds in holding him at bay with a hand on his cheek.

“I… don’t suppose my feelings are returned?” Fjord asks, stroking a thumb across Caduceus’ cheekbone, planting a kiss in its wake.

“Oh!” Caduceus responds, cocking his head to the side, “They are, for sure. Was that not clear? I thought it would be, don’t most peop-?”

“I was kind of joking, Cad,” Fjord chuckles, “But it is nice to hear it out loud.”

“Well in that case,” he says, slipping a hand around Fjord’s waist and toying with the material of his shift, “I love you, Fjord.”

And he’s right- it _is_ nice to hear it out loud. Fjord’s heart melts and explodes and fizzles into dust all at once until he can do nothing but hide his face in Caduceus’ neck. He hums and loops his arms around Fjord, rubbing his cheek against his hair and squeezing his fingers into the back of his shirt. Fjord grins against him and hopes Caduceus doesn’t notice the wetness on his throat. Who is he kidding? He notices everything.

“Fjord? Are you alright?” he murmurs, bringing a hand up to card through his hair.

“Just fine, Cad,” Fjord says, pulling back and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Is this okay? What’s happening right now?” 

“Of course, Fjord,” Caduceus says, tilting his head into the pillow and letting his eyes wander over Fjord’s face, “I’m always okay.”

“Okay, well, I’m going to keep asking anyway, because you weren’t okay last night, and you lied about it.”

“I…” Caduceus bites his lip and looks away, “I suppose you’re right. I shouldn’t have lied.”

Fjord sighs and shuffles that little bit closer, “I’m in love with you, Caduceus-.” 

Caduceus beams and the ear that isn’t smashed into the mattress flicks up.

“- So I need you to tell me when you aren’t okay. Okay?” Fjord folds his hands about Caduceus’ face, kisses his forehead, “Okay?” 

Caduceus watches him for a moment, smile dimming a fraction as he takes in every detail of Fjord close up, takes in how serious he is. “I’ll try. For you, Fjord. If you will do the same for me. Are you okay? Right now?”

Fjord laughs, “Of course I am, silly. Of course-,” he has a sudden thought, “Though I do have some thoughts. Some questions.”

“Ask me anything,” Caduceus says, “if you kiss me first.”

Fjord snorts and plants a kiss on his mouth, savouring the sweet push back and the way Caduceus’ eyes flutter closed with a gentle hum. He pulls back and leans his forehead against his, letting his fingers wind into a wayward strand of pale pink hair. “So… How do we know this isn’t a product of being the only other people we know without a soul mark?”

Caduceus blinks and hums a curious little sound, “I guess we don’t. But I know how I feel and that is that I am in love with you and it has everything to do with who you are as a person and nothing to do with how lonely it is to be like this.”

It’s a nice thought. That they love each other for each other and nothing else. Fjord is inclined to believe it because it feels right and no one can take it away from them, not if they don’t want them to. “You aren’t worried at all?” he asks.

Caduceus retracts an arm from Fjord’s waist and winds his fingers around his, slotting them in place between his own and settling their joined hands over his heart. “I can’t say I’m not worried. But who cares how these feelings happened in the beginning? Because they’re here now. All I know is that the universe didn’t give you someone to love, but I’m here anyway and I love you and you can love me all you want. I wasn’t given someone to love, either, Fjord, but here you are- someone’s miracle.”

Fjord chuckles, the sound soft and watery, “Thanks, Caddy. I love you, whether I was made for you or not.”

“I love you too, Fjord,” Caduceus whispers against his lips before closing the minimal distance. This kiss is long and slow and deep, and Fjord wants to live in it forever. Fortunately, no other member of the Nein seems too eager to step foot out of bed to fetch them for breakfast any time soon either, so they’re left to their own devices for another hour or two. 

It’s one of the best hours Fjord’s ever had.

*

Beau sits beside him at breakfast with a nudge and a chuckle, “Hey Caddy, looks like you have a soul mark after all.”

Caduceus blushes and hikes his collar up to hide the hickey on his throat, and his self-satisfied smile.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chapter! Thank you all so much for reading and supporting this story!  
> let me now what you think in a comment or come shout at me on tumblr @theroswellcrashsite ;0

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! Feel free to comment, I'd love to hear what y'all think <3
> 
> also let me know if you think something needs its own tag or a content warning :)


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